


The Visit

by dorking



Series: McReyes shorts [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, slight sexual conent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9695396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorking/pseuds/dorking
Summary: "Now, let me show you how I love you", Jesse didn't say anything, pliant in his commanders touch.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hmmmmmmmHMMmmmMm

There was only one light on at the ranch, through the lit window a tired silhouette dragged itself up from a chair.

Jesse McCree was at home, clumsily pouring what appeared to be cheap whiskey into a chipped coffee mug. He was in his workshop, cigar hanging from his lips. McCree was comfortably dressed. Serape on the back of his chair, chaps on the floor, hat on its hook; although his Peace Keeper was still in its holster by his hip and his boots were still on. The boots were necessary, the floor was covered in all kinds of broken glass and grime. Jesse made a crunching noise with each uncalculated step. He was a little drunk. Returning to his work table, he retrieved a small screw driver from his kit. His mechanical arm sat on the wooden table as he began pulling out dirt with the tool, and polishing the metal parts with a cloth and some cleaner. He had become fairly dexterous with his right arm, after years of getting used to his missing limb. The empty sleeve was pinned up before the elbow, to avoid getting in the way. 

The house was otherwise unkempt and unoccupied, a sense of isolation and neglect settling on the furniture along with the dust. The occupant had better things to do than clean up after himself. McCree was never much of homebody anyway.The barn outside was as empty as the barren fields surrounding the homestead. Old wooden fences marked the perimeter, in a bad need of a paint job. Even Jesse would agree, the whole plot of land was decrepit. But it was the last place he could get some decent peace and quiet lately; leaving his son the ranch house was the only useful thing Jesse's father had done. Although he would never admit to being thankful for the deed. It was just a convenience.

Busied by his task, and fuzzy from the alcohol, Jesse failed to hear the floorboards on his front porch creaking gently. To his ignorance, he was not alone tonight.

Now, Reaper didn't normally make house calls, but for Jesse McCree he'd made an exception.

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse was scowling at his phone, long legs splayed out on Gabriel's mattress. He had an email from Jack.

 

 

_\-------------------------------------------_

**JACK MORRISON**

to me

Subject: Email Signature

\--------

Agent McCree,

I hope you're doing well.

I hate to be getting on your case like this, but because there isn't any official Overwatch PR policy on this kind of thing (although there will be soon), I hope you understand. It's come to my attention you've personalized your Overwatch email signature, and it is advisable for consistency and professionalism that you change it back (that is, remove the cowboy hat icon), to the one you were issued when you first received the address.

Thank you for your understanding,

**Jack Morrison**

 

**_Overwatch Strike Commander_ **

_Int.Tel ###-#### ext. ###_  
_Ext. Tel ###-####_

_\-------------------------------------------_

 

After responding with the aforementioned icon five times in succession, Jesse tossed the phone on the bed "I hate this thing. S'like they're trying to get me in a damn lasso". McCree never cared much for technology. From his experience in Overwatch, it's uses only served to inconvenience him. He still had mixed feelings about his fresh arm.

Both men were sitting in the dark, save for the light coming from a small desk lamp Gabriel was using, reading glasses perched on his nose. He was distracted, looking over the physical field reports.

"Mm-hmm", a noncommittal murmur was all that passed from his lips in reply.

After the action ended, work was still work after all; and that boiled down to clerical tasks for everyone to some degree. It wasn't always guns and glory. Gabriel would remind Jesse that it 'Just comes with the territory of a real job'. Emphasis on _real_ , as though being part of a gang was not a viable career path.

Jesse rolled his eyes, sliding off the bed. Casually stretching his arms around Gabriel's chest, Jesse purred in his ear "Forget this shit", one hand now reaching for his glasses, "Tell me what you like about my mouth, Commander"

"When it's quiet, Agent McCree", Gabriel attempted in vain to shrug off his subordinates heavy arms. "Tell me you think it's real puurrrtee" Jesse was smiling devilishly, breathing warmly into Reyes' ear.

Gabriel stilled, doing a mental double-take "Christ, _Deliverance_ McCree? Really?"

Jesse relented a bit, grinning sarcastically "What? You don't find that sexy?"

Reyes pushed his paper work to the side as Jesse allowed him to swivel around, away from the desk. Not that he would say it out loud, but Jesse did have a good mouth on him. The thought was arousing Gabriel already; damn McCree. The younger man was making quick work, sliding down to his knees and massaging Gabriel's thighs. Jesse seemed to genuinely enjoy doing this kind of thing without asking for much in return. He did once ask Reyes if he could ride him 'like a cowboy'; Gabriel refused knowing he'd never hear the end of it if he did. Jesse was deftly undoing his fly.

Gabriel ran his hand through McCree's still unwashed hair, it was growing out a bit. "You know there's more to you than your mouth, agent."

Jesse folded his arms on his commander's lap for a minute. He looked up at the older man with his puppy-dog stare and a smile, "Aw, well...I guess I can suck, fuck, _and_ shoot". Gabriel wasn't sure how to respond to that. Did McCree really believe those were his only qualities?

While Gabriel had joined the military, Jesse had hooked up with his gang. As adults, Reyes knew that of course everyone had their own story, their own problems. He had been raised in relative poverty by his single father and _abuela_. Even when times were tough, he never felt unloved or abandoned; he always wanted to make his family proud. That was, at least, up until the point where his father began asking too many personal questions, the kind Reyes couldn't rightly answer. Still, he found it hard to believe that the younger man placed so little worth in himself. Reyes just couldn't relate to Jesse on that level.

It was puzzling, he saw so much of himself in his student, so many laudable qualities; not that Gabriel could tangibly put them into words. They always died in this throat on their way out.

Communication was never his strong suit.

* * *

 

 

Jesse McCree was blindsided, the whip of a gun to his temple knocking him out. When he woke up, he was kneeling on the floor; his body aching from maintaining it's position for so long.

"What in tarnation is going on?"

Jesse could feel the glassy bits under his knees, so he was still in his work shop. Something warm was trickling down his forehead making his hair sticky. Blinking to regain his vision, Jesse focused on the blackened figure before him. He went for his gun, only to find that his knees had been tied, and his right arm roped to his back. Everything clicked, "Only a matter of time I s'pose, huh Reaper?"

Reaper said nothing.

"Well go ahead, I ain't scared of dying" Jesse snarked. Reaper was hardly a threat in that manner. McCree had never been afraid of death, even with his new found attachment to life and justice. Funny, how the man before him had abandoned the most admirable traits he instilled in his student.

"What _are_ you scared of Jesse McCree?" the voice was a disfigured growl, as though through clenched teeth.

"Maybe I'm just scared of bein' anything like you"

His face was hidden, but Jesse could feel Gabriel's nose wrinkling in disgust, "You should have joined me when I gave you the choice".

"Not one chance in hell"

Reaper snarled, an animalistic roar bubbling out from his mask. He kicked Jesse in the face, knocking the cowboy to the floor. Reaper's boot connected with McCree's cheek, squashing Jesse into the grit. Reaper pointed his gun at the man.

"You once saved my life Gabriel"

By force of habit, before Reaper could stop himself,  "I nearly got you killed" he muttered. Angered by his own response, the boot on Jesse's face grew heavier with weight. Boy, did McCree have a headache.

"Did you just come here to finish-" Jesse forced his words through clenched teeth, despite the difficulty "- the job then?"

McCree was trying with great effort to get a look at Reyes.

 

Reaper didn't respond.

 

_Christ, Jesse, your arm!_

 

Under his mask, Reaper blanched.

 

He saw the blood leaking through Jesse's mouth, his torn shirt revealing that God-awful stump. He felt Jesse's dying eyes making contact with his own. 

 

"I never thought of it that way, Gabriel"

 

Reyes had spent years honing his student. So much time poured into perfecting Jesse's shot, skills and strategies; he had been McCree's saviour at some point, he witnessed _life_ return to Jesse's _fucking_ soul. He had nourished that dead weed into something worthy. With one bullet, he could take it all back from the damn ingrate.

But the image of Jesse dying in his arms, wilting, had never stopped haunting him. Gabriel hated for his efforts to go to waste.

 

There would be no satisfaction in killing Jesse McCree.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel Reyes' thoughts were interrupted.

"Deadlock taught me a lotta useful stuff", Jesse removed Gabriel's cock from his pants, "But you've taught me more". Implications aside, that stroked Reyes' ego.

He groaned thankfully, finally feeling the enveloping warmth of McCree's mouth. Placing a tender hand on the back of the brunettes head, Reyes leaned back into his chair, letting the heat rise from his groin into his chest. Jesse's hands were clutching his sides, steadying his position. He sucked his commanders cock with a determined and calculated pace. Something didn't feel quite right, though. Looking down contemplatively, Reyes went for it, even if it meant ruining his blowjob.

"I love you"

Jesse pulled away, cool air drying Gabriel's wet member, "Pardon? I think I got a gnat in my ear"

Reyes swallowed, and grabbed Jesse's face between his fingers, pouting the other mans lips

"You heard what I said, do you copy Agent?"

By training, Jesse straightened slightly "Acknowledged, Commander", only to have his face melt into an embarrassed grimace. McCree's ears were growing visibly redder by the second. Gabriel wasn't expecting a response, so instead he kissed Jesse hard on the mouth, "Now come on over to my bed, and let me fuck you into the mattress". Jesse pulled back, visibly shaken, standing up to let Reyes by. Gabriel grabbed McCree by the collar and tossed the younger man onto the sheets

"Strip down Agent"

Jesse obliged. His silence was slightly disconcerting, somehow Gabriel found himself marginally grateful. Neither of them were great with words, but Gabriel had never been one to back down from a challenge. If he needed to tell McCree he loved him to fix him, Reyes would take that chance. Jesse was worth it.

Even if it was a little awkward.

McCree finished removing his shirt. Reyes admired Jesse's toned body, he'd grown into himself since they'd met. Gabriel stroked himself at the sight, smiling as Jesse turned over onto his stomach. Reyes climbed up behind him, dark chest pressing onto Jesse's tattoo, his fingers finding their way to the gunslingers ass.

"Now, let me show you how I love you"

Jesse didn't say anything, pliant in his commanders touch.

* * *

   
Jesse McCree woke up a mess.

From asshole to appetite, everything hurt. His body flinched involuntarily, his legs were still tied but his arm was free. It was going to be one hell of a job untying the knots with one hand. Turning over onto his back, he felt it would be alright to lay on the ground for a bit. He ran his hand over his face, looking over at the footprints in the dirt leading to the door.

They weren't his.

 


End file.
